by HR Mason
Like the shifting of the tides, Peter’s anger ebbed, giving way to sadness. He slumped into the chair behind his desk and buried his face in his hands. His body shook with sobs that he couldn’t contain. His moods were mercurial, swinging back and forth like the pendulum on the grandfather clock in the hallway, vacillating from outrage to anguish in a matter of seconds. He couldn’t control them, and he was exhausted from trying.
Catherine had to be stopped.
As he’d done his whole life, he wished he could talk to his parents. But that was impossible since he’d never known them. His mother, Anne, had died when he was just one year old, immediately followed by his father, George. No one ever said how they died. The graves of his six brothers lined the ground inside the rose garden. He’d found them when he was a young boy. He was told they had all died before birth but was given nothing more.
Peter often wondered if his parents died from sadness, but all questions about his family went unanswered. Instead of being raised by loving parents, surrounded by siblings, he had been raised alone by a maid and a butler. His physical needs were met, but his emotional needs were neglected.
He’d grown up in boarding schools, and by the time he’d returned to claim his place at Desolate Ridge, his swiftly shifting, unpredictable moods were out of control. Terrified and confused, he’d done his best to manage alone. For a while he was successful, but the personality changes had become impossible to ignore.
Catherine had begged him to get help, arguing their two-year-old son, Clarence, needed a father he could look up to. His wife’s pleas did nothing but anger him. Catherine believed herself to be superior. She looked down on him, laughed at him behind his back. He knew it. That’s exactly what he’d seen earlier that day.
She had to be stopped.
Peter knew his wife couldn’t be trusted. No one as beautiful as Catherine could be faithful. He’d come upon them in the backyard, his wife and the gardener, laughing at some shared secret. Catherine swore she was only being kind, assured her angry husband she was simply telling the gardener how to prune the rose garden.
He didn’t believe her. He knew there was more to it. Why had their laughter stopped as soon as they’d seen him? Because Peter was the object of their joke. They were laughing at him. Catherine told her irrational husband his jealousy was unfounded. She begged Peter to believe she only loved him. She and their son, Clarence, adored him. No matter how much she protested, Peter knew she was lying.
He closed his eyes and pictured his wife, her lovely corkscrew copper curls bouncing as she laughed. Her pale, perfect skin was the canvas for the bluest eyes he had ever seen. She pretended to be sweet and innocent, but he knew better. She pretended to be faithful, but she wasn’t. She was a liar. She had bewitched him. She was deceitful, and she’d fooled him into marrying her.
She had to be stopped.
Peter heard Catherine laughing in the sitting room. She and Clarence were playing a game together. His son laughed just like his mother. He was sure they were both mocking him. He knew it. If he didn’t do something, Clarence would grow up to be a liar, just like his mother.
She had to be stopped.
Peter’s sadness subsided and his rage burned hot once again. Without a second thought, he stalked toward the sitting room. The fire was already lit in the fireplace; all he had to do was make it spread. He walked through the door and sat on the chair next to the hearth, all the while watching his wife and son as they played. They barely acknowledged him as he entered the room.
She had to be stopped.
They were distracted. He slowly opened the grate that covered the flames, then grabbed the throw pillow that was positioned on the chair beside him. He leaned forward and lit the edge of the pillow on fire. The lace began to curl as the flames took hold.
He hurled the pillow across the room, and it landed below the drapes covering the large window. Before long, the material was set ablaze. Within seconds, that side of the room was burning.
He grabbed the blanket that was next to him, set it on fire, and threw it toward the opposite side. Within seconds, the sitting room was engulfed in flames. Without even a backward glance, Peter left the room, locking the door tightly behind him.
She had to be stopped.
He refused to listen to the sound of his young son crying in fear. He ignored the ear-piercing screams of his wife, begging him for help. He blocked out the sound of glass shattering behind the barred door. He tuned everything out.
Catherine had left him no choice. He had to do it. She had laughed at him. She had been unfaithful. She was a liar.
She had to be stopped.
16
“Aubrey, wake up. It’s Hank Metzger. Can you hear me?”
A deep voice began to permeate the fog as Aubrey slowly opened her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she was awake or dreaming. Hank’s worried face loomed over hers. He was kneeling beside her, his warm hand on her ice-cold wrist. He was taking her pulse.
“What happened?”
Confusion swam in her brain. She was on the floor of the sitting room but had no idea why. The last thing she remembered was being awakened by the sound of crying in the attic.
“Aubrey, you called me and said there was a fire,” Hank answered slowly.
Aubrey worked hard to remember, and suddenly it all came crashing back. She recalled the smell of smoke, the crackling, blistering flames, and her inability to take a breath. She’d been trapped in the sitting room, locked in tightly. All she’d wanted to do was get out of the room, to open the window, but she couldn’t.
“There was a fire. This entire room was on fire.”
She sat up quickly and looked around. Everything was perfectly intact. There wasn’t a single trace of a flame. Nothing was burned, and there wasn’t a speck of smoke damage. The sitting room looked exactly as it always had. Aubrey felt panic rise in her chest as she realized there was no explanation for what she’d experienced.
“I don’t understand. I swear to you this room was on fire.”
“Just take a few breaths, Aubrey.”
“It doesn’t make sense. I was locked inside and couldn’t get out.”
Aubrey’s breath came faster. She was hyperventilating. Nothing made sense. She was going crazy. The house was driving her mad.
“I’m crazy. I’m going crazy.”
“Aubrey, listen to me. You’re safe. Look at me and breathe with me,” Hank replied calmly.
Aubrey’s eyes bored into the sheriff’s. She reached out and grabbed his hands, clinging to him with all her might. She had to find a way to anchor herself in this world before she was sucked into the next. She worked to match her breath with his, and before long, her gasps gave way to normal respiration.
“There you go. Now you’re coming back.”
Hank spoke quietly, in slow, soothing tones. He rhythmically traced his thumbs across the tops of Aubrey’s hands while she clutched his tightly. She felt the terror melt and the calmness begin to settle inside. Slowly, her heart rate returned to normal.
“I’m… I’m sorry. I don’t… understand… what happened,” she managed.
“I don’t know either, Aubrey, but something clearly did.”
“You must think I’ve lost my mind.”
“Why don’t we go sit down, and you can try to remember.”
Hank helped her to her feet and led her out of the sitting room, down the hall, and into the parlor, hoping the change of scenery might soothe her and jog her memory. She shivered violently. Hank realized it was from shock, so he grabbed a velvet throw blanket and draped it around Aubrey’s trembling shoulders.
“There you go. Just take a few minutes and try to gather your thoughts,” he soothed.
Aubrey was embarrassed. She wasn’t used to asking for help, yet she’d called Hank in hysterical desperation. To make the situation worse, it had all been for no reason. There wasn’t a fire. She’d imagined the entire thing. Hank probably thought she had lost her mind. And he might
be right.
“Look, I’m sorry to have bothered you, Sheriff Metzger, but you can go now.”
She stood quickly, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. Somehow she had to find a way to regain her dignity. She couldn’t have the town sheriff thinking she was a lunatic, even if she was.
“It’s really no bother at all. Please sit down, Aubrey. I’d like to help you get to the bottom of this.” Hank gestured toward the couch. Reluctantly Aubrey took a seat.
“You really don’t have to stay. It was probably just a bad dream.”
“I don’t think it was a dream.”
“You don’t?”
“No, I don’t,” he answered matter-of-factly.
“Then you probably think I’m crazy,” she retorted.
“I don’t think you’re crazy. I think something happened here tonight. I don’t think it was a dream, and I don’t think it was in your head.”
Aubrey scrutinized Hank’s face, looking for any indication he was lying. She hated to be pitied, and there was nothing worse than being patronized. She knew how to read people, having done it her whole life. She could spot a liar from a mile away. But when she looked at Hank, all she could see was genuine sincerity. It was the same experience she’d had with his sister, Rebecca.
“Look, the problem is I don’t know what happened. Nothing has made sense to me since the minute I inherited this place,” Aubrey admitted.
“Tell me what you remember tonight. Let’s start there,” Hank encouraged.
“Before I went to sleep, I was reading over the names in the front of this old family Bible I found in the attic,” Aubrey started.
“I’ll bet that made for some interesting bedtime reading,” he quipped.
“You have no idea.”
“What did you find?”
“It was weird. The women in my family all died really young, and most generations only had one male heir. I remember thinking it was strange as I fell asleep.”
“It is strange, Aubrey.”
“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”
It felt nice that Hank seemed to understand.
“And then what happened?” the sheriff prompted.
“The cat hissed and woke me up. Then I heard a really loud sound. It was a woman crying.”
“A woman crying? Is there someone else here?”
“No.”
“I see.” Hank’s brow furrowed.
“I walked toward the door leading up to the attic. The sound was coming from there. But I didn’t have a flashlight, so I came downstairs to get one. That’s when I smelled the smoke. I called you as I ran toward the sitting room, but then the door slammed shut, and I couldn’t get out. When I woke up, you were here.”
“You say the door to the sitting room was locked?”
“Yes. I couldn’t get out. How did you get in?”
“It was standing wide open when I got here.”
Aubrey racked her brain for a reasonable explanation. She felt an intense need to justify what had happened to her. But she had nothing.
“I need to look in the attic to make sure there’s no one up there,” Hank interjected.
“Okay. I’ll go with you.”
“Aubrey, you don’t have to do that.”
“I need to see it.”
Hank nodded and grabbed his flashlight, and the pair ascended the winding staircase. They reached the second-floor landing and headed toward the door leading up to the attic. Aubrey felt strangely calm. Somehow it didn’t seem as frightening as when she’d attempted to go up there alone.
Aubrey flipped on the light in the stairwell, but it didn’t offer much assistance. Hank flicked his flashlight in front of them to add some illumination as they slowly crept up the creaking attic stairs. She fully expected to find someone there. The intensity of the sound of the woman crying had been jarring. Together, they searched the entire attic, even looking under the sheet-covered furniture in the center of the room. There was nothing.
“Something is wrong with me, Hank. I must have imagined it all,” Aubrey said with a quivering voice.
“We’ll figure it out. Let’s go back downstairs now,” he answered gently.
They left the attic and returned to the parlor on the first floor, where Aubrey sank dejectedly onto the sofa. There was nothing to figure out. There was no logical explanation.
Hank sat next to her on the sofa. “Aubrey, I know you don’t understand what happened. I don’t either. But I meant what I said. I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“Well, that makes one of us. You know, I’ve never been the most stable person, but for the most part, I could tell the difference between illusion and reality. Ever since I’ve been in this house, I can’t even do that.” Aubrey’s eyes filled with tears.
“I’ve heard stories about Desolate Ridge my whole life. My grandparents used to talk about the strange things that happened here. There are all kinds of legends, literally hundreds of them. I don’t normally believe in ghost stories, but I’ve heard enough about this place to believe they’re true,” Hank explained.
“Are you telling me you believe Desolate Ridge is haunted?”
“I’m telling you I wouldn’t rule it out.”
Aubrey had wrestled with the haunted house theory, but she couldn’t bring herself to give it any credence. If the townspeople believed it, perhaps there was a sliver of truth to the tales. After all, she’d experienced things she couldn’t explain. The house was strange, and her family was even more bizarre. After reading the family Bible, she now had more questions than answers about the Rosses.
“You and your sister are the only people I’ve ever met who don’t make me feel like a freak. You’re both really kind. It must be in your DNA,” Aubrey said. “Unfortunately, insanity runs in mine.”
“I’m happy to do whatever I can. I mean that. I’d love to help you find the answers you need,” Hank offered.
“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I might take you up on that. I honestly have no idea where to start.”
“My sister said you were joining us for dinner tomorrow.”
“She said it wouldn’t be a bother. I hope she was right.”
“She was absolutely right. Maybe I could pick you up and drive you there?” Hank suggested. “That way you wouldn’t have to try to find her house on your own.”
The biggest part of Aubrey wanted to decline. It was the way she was wired; she didn’t like asking for help, and she never let her guard down. But with Hank and Rebecca, something was different. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t terrified of someone getting to know her, although she knew they would be shocked once they looked beneath the surface. Aubrey had some difficult baggage, after all, but the Metzgers’ kindness made her want to try.
“All right, you can pick me up.”
“You should think of some questions to ask my grandparents.”
“I’ll do that. I think I have about a million.”
“I don’t know the whole story, but there’s some sort of connection between the Metzgers and the Rosses. Gramps will be able to tell you more,” Hank explained.
“Really? That’s interesting. I wonder what the connection is.”
“It has something to do with the first woman who lived in this house.”
“I look forward to hearing it. Honestly, I look forward to anything they’re willing to tell me. No one around here will say anything. If only the walls could talk.”
Aubrey rolled her eyes, and Hank laughed.
“Oh, Gramps is a talker. You’ll have to beg him to stop. He’s a sucker for a pretty face. That seems to run in the family too.”
Hank’s eyes lingered on hers. Aubrey would have been lying if she said the sheriff wasn’t handsome, but her attraction went beyond the surface. There was a raw goodness about Hank. He radiated kindness. As much as she hated to admit it, he made her feel safe. No one had ever given her that feeling. It was confusing, but she liked it.
“Thanks again
for coming to help me. I’m not good at asking for assistance, but I clearly needed it tonight.”
“I don’t like leaving you here alone. You’re braver than I would be to stay here after being spooked like that.”
“I’ve been alone my whole life, Hank. I’ve never known anything else.”
“Well, maybe the tides are shifting. No one should be alone.”
Aubrey tried to tear her gaze from his, but she couldn’t. Thankfully, Hank looked away first, breaking the spell. He rose from the couch and headed toward the entryway. Aubrey followed.
“Promise you’ll call me if you need help, Aubrey. I don’t care what time it is.”
“I promise. And thank you again.”
They reached the front door, and Hank stepped outside. He wanted to stay with her. Something wasn’t right inside that house. He could feel it. But it wasn’t his place to insist. Hank had to believe Aubrey would reach out for help if she needed it.
He barely knew her, but he could see she didn’t trust easily. If he pushed too hard, too quickly, she would fly away like a scared bird. That was the last thing he wanted, so he reluctantly returned to his patrol car.
Aubrey closed the door and went back inside. She was alone again, and it was the middle of the night. She hadn’t slept for days, and although slumber wouldn’t come easily, she needed to try.
Leaving the lights on, she returned upstairs to her bed and snuggled next to Spectre, glad to feel the warmth of the cat’s body and hear the rhythmic sound of her purring.
Aubrey tossed and turned for a while, but she eventually drifted off to sleep.
The dream swirled into her subconscious, creeping in like a monster lurking in the shadows. A woman in a flowing white gown was running. It was the woman she’d dreamed of before, the same one she’d seen in the attic window. She recognized her immediately because the face was so much like her own.
The woman cried as she ran through the dark woods. Aubrey didn’t know if she was running toward something or away from it. A man watched her go with a look of sadness that nearly ripped Aubrey’s heart out. The man looked just like Hank, but his clothing was from another era.